


Pets and Scritches

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Wolfy Bois [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Humor, I want to tag petting but that has Connotations, Wolves, does this count as, so let's just say Jaskier is very tactile and Geralt is very soft, y'all know where this is going...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: This is not the first time, nor will it be the last.The difference is that Jaskier is here.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Wolfy Bois [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826140
Comments: 57
Kudos: 569





	Pets and Scritches

**Author's Note:**

> I hope u like this dumb thing I threw together in four hours

Geralt thought Jaskier wouldn’t recognize him, but as soon as he limped into the clearing, dragging his now-useless armor, Jaskier gasped and said, “Oh, my darling, what happened?”

Geralt growled because he couldn’t speak. Wolves don’t have human vocal cords after all.

“Right, stupid question, I know.” Jaskier stood and hurried over, kneeling as he cupped Geralt’s chin in his hands. “Do you need me to help get your swords?”

The worry practically radiating off him, the gentleness of his hands… Geralt had the sudden, very stupid idea of curling up in Jaskier’s lap, fuck the swords.

But instead he shook his head, stiffly, let go of his armor, and turned to trot into the woods. It wasn’t that far in wolf-shape.

Two trips to the site of his painful transformation later, he had all of his gear returned, and Jaskier had the medical supplies laid out, looking stubborn.

“Paw,” he said imperiously, and stuck out his hand. Sulkily, Geralt limped over and put his injured paw in Jaskier’s hand. His palm was dwarfed by Geralt’s paw. Well, of course; dire wolves are much bigger than humans, after all. He snarled as Jaskier dabbed healing cream on the cut on his foreleg, after carefully rinsing it. The cream stung, but only because there was an ingredient in it that would kill any possible infection. When the wound was evenly coated, Jaskier smoothed his fur in the right direction and bandaged his leg. Then he looked up and asked, “Is there any other injury?”

Geralt shook his head.

“Good. Can I touch you?”

Geralt blinked. Why was Jaskier asking? When had Geralt ever refused his touch? He nodded.

Jaskier raised his hand and scratched Geralt’s ear.

It felt nice. Really nice. Geralt pushed his head up into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier laughed and obligingly scratched harder, getting his other hand involved on Geralt’s other ear. Geralt made a contented noise and rested his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, enjoying how the scratching became gentle petting. Well. This was an entirely new experience. And Geralt’s new instincts were delighted.

They spent the night in the clearing. Geralt curled up, and Jaskier flopped down within his curl, and it was a good sleep. Geralt was very glad his bard was with him.

~

The humans at the gate were alarmed by Geralt. He sighed and sat in the road. Jaskier pet his head and led Roach towards them, hailing them calmly and explaining that the Witcher was indisposed but had still managed to finish the job. Geralt scratched his neck with his back paw as he waited for them to pay Jaskier. He couldn’t really understand the speech of the humans—he could hear that they were making noises, he could tell they were words, but they were mostly indistinct. Strange. He hated that he couldn’t frown anymore.

In contrast, Jaskier’s words were clear and made sense. He was arguing. Something about how it didn’t matter that wolves couldn’t use money, _he_ could, and since he was bringing them the proof of death, they should honor the contract and pay up.

Eventually they handed over the money. Jaskier untied the sack of bloody monster-bits and dropped it at their feet, then returned to Geralt.

“Let’s move on,” Jaskier said, scowling hard. Geralt nodded, and they all continued down the road. Geralt felt the horrible urge to gnaw at the itch on his leg, but the itch was from the bandage, and he needed to leave it so that nasty wound would heal.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been trapped in wolf shape. He was fairly sure it wouldn’t be the last. But now he had Jaskier around, and surely life would be much easier.

~

“It’s just some stairs!”

Geralt stared at the wooden steps, doing his best not to tuck his tail. He couldn’t do anything about his ears, unfortunately.

Jaskier sighed and grabbed his front paw and set it on the bottom step. Then he started moving the rest of Geralt’s stiffened, straightened legs. Wobbling a little, Geralt made it up three steps before his tail broke control and tucked, and his ears flattened completely. At least he didn’t whine.

“Come _on_ , you ridiculous creature, I paid good money for that room.”

That was what broke through the terror of the stairs. Carefully, scrabbling a little, Geralt managed to make it up to the landing, where he promptly sat and refused to move. Jaskier sighed again, even more exasperated, and grabbed Geralt around the chest to heave him to the second half of the stairs. Geralt really did whine, very quietly, at having to do this horrible ordeal again.

Eventually they made it to their floor, and Geralt slunk after Jaskier, small and tight with shame, until they reached their room. Then Jaskier opened the door and Geralt trotted over to curl up in the corner, still feeling ashamed, and dreading having to go down the stairs again. Jaskier rolled his eyes and dumped their gear before going over and kneeling next to Geralt, giving him lots of pets and scratches. Finally, the tip of Geralt’s tail began to wag, and Jaskier smiled, pressing the tip of his nose gently against Geralt’s snout. “You big baby,” Jaskier murmured affectionately. “I’ll just have to carry you up and down stairs, I suppose.”

As if he could. Geralt had the strangest desire to lick his face, his bard who wanted to take care of him—show his trust. Instead of licking, Geralt wiggled over on to his back.

Jaskier laughed, delighted, and rubbed his belly briskly, scratching and petting as well. Geralt woofled in contentment, and his tail made slow thumps on the floor. Jaskier knew exactly where the best places to scratch were, and that was lovely.

He was dimly aware that he was getting far too comfortable in this shape, but really, it felt nice to let Jaskier touch him with no boundaries. Baths were one thing, but _this_ —this was definitely another.

Jaskier stopped petting him, and Geralt raised his head to give an offended woof; Jaskier chuckled and stroked the side of his neck, as if brushing his hair aside if he were human. “Not that I don’t also enjoy giving you belly-rubs, but we really do need to contact Yennefer.”

Geralt huffed and let his head fall. Jaskier chuckled again, scratched his ear, and then stood to go to their possessions and fish out the magic mirror Yennefer had given Geralt. Jaskier used it too, when he wanted to have a good argument and Geralt didn’t oblige.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, if this isn’t important I will wring your neck!” Yennefer’s voice barked from the mirror. Geralt was on his feet immediately, growling.

“Oh, hush, Geralt,” Jaskier told him, then returned to the mirror. “It’s actually important this time, I promise. Our poor White Wolf is now, literally, a wolf. He can’t tell me what’s happened for obvious reasons, but we really do need him changed back.”

“What the fuck?” Yennefer sounded incredulous. “Show me.”

Jaskier turned the mirror, and Geralt saw the tiny moving picture of Yennefer peering closer at him. “Closer,” she ordered briskly. Jaskier rolled his eyes but obediently knelt and held the mirror closer to Geralt, who flattened his ears in distrust.

“Huh,” Yennefer said, incredulity becoming curiosity. “Well, that’s interesting. If you want me to study the spell, I’ll have to bring you here, to my workroom.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” Jaskier asked, turning the mirror back to himself. “I paid extra to let him sleep in the same room as me and this bed looks incredibly comfortable. Also the food was good and I’d like a proper breakfast.”

Yennefer snorted. “I have food, cook your own damn breakfast. But if you paid for the night, get your money’s worth. I’ll do some preparation.”

“Thanks, Yenn.”

“Mm-hm. Don’t let him bite anything.”

And the mirror went dark. Jaskier scowled, but went and put it away. “Alright, Geralt, I’m tired, you’re tired, let’s just sleep. And don’t bother staying on the floor.”

Geralt hopped up on the bed and stretched out, resting his head on a pillow. Jaskier stripped to his underthings and climbed into the bed too, snuggling against Geralt and humming as he stroked Geralt’s side softly.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jaskier murmured, “But I am very grateful I get to pet you. Your fur is really soft.”

Geralt’s tail started wagging.

~

In the morning, Geralt did not want to go down the stairs.

Sighing heavily, Jaskier swung everything on to his back, crouched, and hefted Geralt up his arms with a loud “oof!” He then carefully went down the stairs, and Geralt started shivering when he felt Jaskier’s arms start to tremble. What if he tripped and fell? What if they both broke their necks? What if—what if—oh fuck, were they falling, it felt like they were falling—

“Stop wriggling,” Jaskier wheezed, and stepped down on to the tavern floor, crouching to let Geralt out of his arms. Then he needed a minute to catch his breath, leaning on Geralt, who whined very softly. “Oh hush, I’m fine, you’re just heavy, you brute.”

Everyone currently in the tavern stared in horror at the delicate-seeming bard hauling armor, weapons, saddlebags, a lute, and a wolf, but Jaskier just smiled cheerfully and followed Geralt out of the tavern.

They had barely left the village bounds when a portal opened, making Roach shy and Jaskier jump. Geralt automatically shoved between Jaskier and the portal, snarling—but then Yennefer’s voice called, “Hurry up, you dolts!”

So the three of them hurried through, though Roach snorted, affronted, to find herself in a house.

“Did you have to bring the animal?” Yennefer demanded sourly.

“Of course we did,” Jaskier snapped as Geralt growled. “We can’t just abandon her!”

Yennefer snorted. “Fine. There’s a stable outside.” She took a breath and formed another portal. “Jaskier, take the horse. Geralt, stay, I need to look you over.”

Both Jaskier and Geralt bristled with suspicion, but Jaskier led Roach through the portal with no snide comments. When it closed, Yennefer turned to Geralt, looked at his wary look, and scowled. “Yes that was my stable,” she snapped. “He can get back in the house just fine. Come on, we have to go upstairs.”

Geralt immediately sat down and tried to glare. Yennefer stared at him, baffled. “What, do you want to wait for your _friend_?” she sneered, still puzzled.

Geralt nodded.

Yennefer blinked. “...Huh.”

So they waited, until Jaskier stomped up the stairs to them and threw open the door. “Thanks for making the front door impossible to open,” he snapped, and crossed to scratch Geralt’s ear. “Well? Have you looked at him?”

“The door was not impossible, since you clearly got in, and no, I haven’t. He apparently wanted to wait.” Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Geralt. “ _Now_ will you come upstairs?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said in resignation, “No, he doesn’t do stairs. Alright, Geralt, up you get.”

This time, Jaskier hoisted him up so he was carrying Geralt by the bum, and Geralt’s front paws were hooked over his shoulder. This was slightly terrifying when they went up the stairs, because Geralt didn’t know how to balance, and he knew Jaskier was getting tired.

“Why is he whining?” Yennefer asked from above, baffled.

“He doesn’t like stairs,” Jaskier replied, and shifted his grip. “Stop wiggling, I’ve got you, you’re fine.”

Geralt couldn’t help another whine.

When they reached Yennefer’s workroom, Jaskier crouched and Geralt slipped off his shoulder. He didn’t move away from his bard, though, looking around warily. It was just like any other mage’s workroom, though, so after a moment he relaxed a little. Jaskier reached down and patted him gently, and he finally stepped away.

Yennefer looked even more baffled. Then she cleared her throat and said, “Alright, this shouldn’t take long.”

She was right, it didn’t. All Geralt had to do was sit in the middle of the room and let her mutter spells at him, sometimes dripping oils on his head, sometimes burning things and making him breathe the smoke, but eventually she sighed and picked up a cloth, tossing it to Jaskier. “Clean his head,” she ordered. “It’s a fairly simple spell. It will fade after a week.”

“A week?!” Jaskier yelped, though his hand rubbing the cloth on Geralt’s head was still gentle. “How is he supposed to hunt like this?”

“He can’t. Take him to Kaer Morhen or something. It’ll be an easier transition if he’s somewhere familiar. Still painful, but easier.”

Jaskier’s hand paused. Geralt looked up and back at him, and was startled by the strange look on his face. “Painful?” he murmured, his other hand carefully sinking into Geralt’s fur and hanging on tightly.

“It’s not that bad,” Yennefer replied irritably. “You can stay for the day I suppose, but then I’m sending you to that horrible mountain.”

“Fine,” Jaskier replied, in a more normal tone. “We don’t want to stay here longer than that.”

Geralt’s tail thwapped the floor in agreement.

~

“Jaskier!”

Ciri barreled into Jaskier, who laughed and picked her up to hug her, but set her down quickly so Geralt could stick his nose in her face to make sure she was alright. Ciri jerked back, blinked, then threw her arms around Geralt’s neck and hugged him, too.

“What happened?” she asked, not letting go. Geralt rubbed his cheek on her ear.

“A spell,” Jaskier sighed. “Where’s that old fart Vesemir?”

“Have respect for your elders,” Vesemir replied, ambling out of the kitchen to them. “Ah, Geralt. How long will this one last?”

“Yennefer said a week,” Jaskier replied, and grinned at Vesemir’s sour expression. “She’s a lot less shitty these days, I promise.”

“She really is, Uncle Vesemir,” Ciri agreed earnestly, petting Geralt’s head. “Dad, you smell like horse shit.”

He yanked back to snort and give her a disgruntled look, and she just grinned.

It was a boring wait. Geralt prowled around, pacing restlessly, and refused to go up or down the stairs. Jaskier carried him, and sometimes didn’t put him down unless it was absolutely necessary. Geralt found that he didn’t mind. Jaskier throwing Geralt over his shoulder and just carrying him around like that was actually quite interesting.

“How long can you carry him?” Ciri asked on the eighth day of Geralt’s new form, as she, Jaskier, and Vesemir ate porridge and Geralt bolted chunks of fresh venison.

“Only one way to find out,” Jaskier replied cheerfully.

Geralt huffed and resigned himself to being carried around for a while.

At first Jaskier just walked around the upper courtyard with Geralt over his shoulder, and they both enjoyed the summer day. Then Jaskier got the bright idea to go up and down the stairs between upper and lower courtyard, “To get you used to it, you big baby.”

It was on the fifth pass up the stairs, and Jaskier was beginning to pant, when Geralt felt the first bolt of pain. He yelped, nearly twisting out of Jaskier’s arms, as the pain kept hitting. Jaskier took the last four steps at a run and fell to his knees so Geralt could fall off. The pain was intense, but no worse than the last time; Geralt writhed a little (alright, a _lot_ ) and snarled and snapped and flailed—and then suddenly it was over and he was human-shaped again, gasping for breath and curled on his side.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked nervously, touching his shoulder. For a wonder, the spell had not destroyed his clothing; Geralt was not naked and defenseless, although his shirt was dusted with white fur. “Geralt, are you alright?”

“Yes,” Geralt got out finally, and slowly sat up, flinching at residual pain. “Fuck.”

“Can you walk?” Jaskier asked.

“In a minute,” Geralt replied automatically—then he blinked, and looked at Jaskier, who was beginning to smirk mischievously. Alarm filled Geralt. “Jaskier, don’t you dare—!”

Too late. Jaskier stood and scooped Geralt up, throwing him over his shoulder, and laughed as Geralt growled and kicked. “What? The experiment isn’t done. And anyway, I need the workout.”

Geralt huffed and went limp, accepting his fate. He kind of wished he was still a wolf, actually; all that scratching and petting had gotten to his head. Now he had to do without Jaskier’s careful hands.

“I will absolutely still be petting you tonight, by the way,” Jaskier said casually, as he started down the steps. “You don’t get rid of _me_ that easily.”

Geralt squirmed to get a little more comfortable and did not say anything either way. Because they both knew he didn’t want to even try getting rid of Jaskier. Not now that his talent for ear-scratching had been discovered.

**Author's Note:**

> comments please


End file.
